Once Upon, Once Again
by RatherAbysmal
Summary: Experimental plot bunny. The war is over and the trio are headed back to Hogwarts for their seventh year. While on the express, Hermione unexpectedly finds solace in a particular arch enemy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. It's fanfiction.

A/N: As the summary says. I'm just testing the waters...

* * *

Hermione heaved a long sigh and palmed her book shut. Harry and Ron looked up from their game of exploding snap. Ginny ignored her in favor of the magazine on her lap.

"I think I'll go for a stroll," Hermione began, the compartment suddenly feeling too small, "Go and stretch my legs a bit."

"Okay," Ron nodded. Their eyes met and the two immediately broke contact. Harry looked on with apprehension.

Hermione really hated this. She could tell Ron hated it too. After years of pining after each other, they hadn't even gone steady for a month before it all fell apart. It wasn't a bad break up, as far as break ups went, and they had the rest of the summer to patch their friendship, but moving on was hard, especially when it was what they wanted for as long as they could remember.

They just made better friends. Or maybe the war changed something in them and now they couldn't ever go back.

Hermione exited the compartment with a deep breath, glad for the momentary reprieve. Things with the Weasley family had been tense, more so with Molly and Ginny. The two seem to have it out for her, despite Ron's insistence that the break up was mutual. Then again, Molly and Ginny never did have the best rapport with her. Molly was rather hot and cold to her throughout the years and Hermione and Ginny never did turn out the best of girlfriends, even after sharing rooms.

And now Ginny seemed to be everywhere. Her and Harry had finally gotten back together, though this time, Ginny was reluctant to leave his side. Perhaps Hermione was a little bitter about it. It was never the Golden Trio hanging out anymore, it was Harry, Hermione, and Ron plus Ginny and it didn't feel like it used to.

Ginny ignoring, glaring, and making snide remarks at her certainly didn't help. If anything, she was slowing down any progress she was making with Ron, and effectively forcing Harry to mediate between the three of them.

Hermione wanted to hit the wall in frustration but caught herself at the last second. Two first years were slowly making a beeline toward her, parchment and quill in hand, no doubt ready to ask for her autograph as did the last couple of students.

She signed it with flourish and continued on her way, mindful of the hyperactive students crisscrossing their way throughout the train, eager to catch up with friends after a summer of celebration and reconstruction.

Hermione wished she felt as happy as they did. She found herself falling into bouts of depression and anxiety every now and then, and she suspected her friends didn't have it any better. Her studies had always been her fallback, so she promptly declared her return to Hogwarts for her "seventh" year, if only to cross out a life goal she'd had ever since she got her acceptance letter. Harry had been excited about the prospect and was eager to attend as well. School was a normalcy he craved, though Hermione doubted he needed his N.E.W.T.S. to qualify for the Auror program. Ron on the other hand, had been predictably conflicted. It was no secret he skirted his coursework every chance he got but he had been working at the joke shop majority of the summer and was pained to leave George on his own.

Of course, George wouldn't have any of it.

Ron's decision was made when he fired him on the spot, made some excuse about under-qualified workers, and told him someone needed to look out for Ginny, especially now that the only other decent bloke in their year was dating her.

And now the four of them were heading back to school on the Hogwarts express, along with numerous other students who had missed a year or two because of the war. As Head Girl, Hermione wasn't sure if she was looking forward to a student population a third larger than she was used to.

She walked idly toward the back of the train, prolonging her inevitable return to her compartment, greeting familiar faces and smiling at new ones. It wouldn't do to come off as cold and indifferent. She was Head Girl this year, a coveted position for someone as academically ambitious as she was. She couldn't even bring herself to feel sorry for the girl she happened to snub by returning to Hogwarts after a year's leave.

Harry had made prefect but had declined in favor of being Quidditch Captain. Hermione had to bite down hard not to chide him for it—she knew after everything, all Harry wanted to do was to enjoy himself, Quidditch being one of his hobbies, and was probably itching to win the Quidditch House Cup his final year.

The prefect position then fell to Ron, who had also declined after Harry's emboldened move. He was Gryffindor's keeper and would love nothing more than to have his team reign, sod extra duties and all.

Hermione may or may not have ignored the boys the rest of the day.

The prefect position instead had gone to a boy who had actually attended sixth year the prior year. The other went to Ginny, who Hermione would had been elated for if not for their current riff.

Peering through the compartments as she passed, she noticed that majority of the Slytherins congregated toward the back of the train, choosing to stick with numbers especially with the less than savory post-war emotions overhanging their house. Hermione felt bad for a small portion of them. Not all of the Slytherins had associated with Voldemort, and many had no choice but to follow in their family's footsteps. She knew it would do no good to breed or perpetuate ill feelings, especially since reconstruction efforts needed to run full steam. The Head Boy was a Slytherin too, though Hermione had filled with dread and doubt after seeing just who it was at the prefect meeting earlier.

She pushed the door open on the last car, meeting the rush of brisk wind and open greenery as she stepped onto the balcony.

Speaking of Head Boy…

"Malfoy," she greeted curtly. She had not expected to find him isolated at the back of the train.

He turned, forearms on the railing, and raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me some pimply brat got himself into a heap of trouble already."

She blinked. "No… I was going to get some fresh air. I didn't think anyone would be out here."

She waited for an insult but nothing came. He just stared at her.

"I'll just go," she offered hastily. She slid the door open and turned to head back in.

"You can stay if you want to," he called out indifferently.

She paused, honestly believing that she had misheard.

"Don't give me that look," he scoffed, moving away from the rail. "We're going to have to work together this year. What does it say when we can't even be in the same breathing space?"

Hermione let the door slide close. "Either there is something wrong with me or something wrong with you because I just heard a Malfoy calling for a truce with a Gryffindor muggleborn."

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm extending an olive branch, Granger. I want to put the past behind me. Unfortunately, you're already making me regret it."

"If this is you trying to be nice, then you're not doing a very good job of it."

His lip curled up in his usual sneer. "Fine, suit yourself. You stay, I'll go."

He moved to brush by her and reached for the door. Hermione felt a twinge in her gut, something akin to guilt and hell if she ever felt guilty about what she says or does to a Malfoy.

"Wait!" She slammed the door closed, effectively startling Draco out of his wits.

"Merlin, Granger! You nearly lopped my fingers off!" he snarled.

She flushed. "Sorry."

He studied her carefully, sneer still in place, before moving back with a huff. He crossed his arms. "Well?"

She mirrored his stance. "If you're really honest about this truce, then I accept," she announced, getting to the core of the matter.

He rolled his eyes at her. "Would you like to shake on it too?" he muttered sarcastically.

She gave him a derisive look. "Like you would bother initiating physical contact with someone like me—"

"Stop it."

Hermione clamped her mouth close.

Draco seemed to struggle with himself. He was already in his school uniform, impeccable as always, but the wind disheveling his hair made his eyes wild. For the first time, she wondered if it was a good idea to be alone with him. He could shove her off the train and none would be the wiser.

He locked eyes with her and stated in a rather rehearsed manner, "I grudgingly admit that purebloods are not better than half-bloods or muggleborns."

Her mouth dropped. It looked like it took everything he had to be able to say the words.

"It took me a while to get it," he proffered, shifting uncomfortably, "but I see now that blood isn't everything. It doesn't make you a better witch or wizard, it doesn't make you stronger and it doesn't make you smarter."

Hermione continued to gap at him.

"Don't get me wrong, I still think there's certain pride to be had in having a magical lineage," he threw in snootily, "Not to mention I'm by far the most handsome guy in my generation, with brains to match and vaults full of gold, so really, nothing's changed. In hindsight, I'm still superior—"

"Alright, I got it, Malfoy!" Hermione cut off with a shake of her head. There was the Malfoy they all knew and despised. "I just wish I had a video recorder to memorialize this event forever!" To prove that she wasn't dreaming, she pinched herself for good measure.

He couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from curling down. "A video what? Is that a muggle term?"

"Tech, actually. It records moving pictures."

"Oh."

"But you're really not pulling my leg? You're honest about everything you just said?"

Draco pressed his lips to a thin line, somewhat offended. "Yes, I hardly think my former self would've had the capacity to joke about blood acceptance and equality."

"Hm." Hermione gave him a thoughtful once over.

"What?"

"Nothing." She gave what she hoped was a genuine smile. "The new you is rather interesting."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose I find you interesting too."

"Really?" She leaned her elbows on the railing, the countryside whipping by them in a blur.

He leaned beside her. "No, that's not the right word. Baffling is more like it."

Hermione turned to him with a frown.

"I don't know. You used to make me so angry. You were the best witch in our year, no matter what I did and that killed me. You know, I used to tell myself that you were the child of some witch or wizard, given up for adoption."

Hermione certainly didn't know what to say to that.

"It took ages for me to accept you as you were." He sighed and turned to meet her gaze. "And now I can say that you are more than just a clever witch and I really would like the chance to prove to you and everyone else that not all Malfoys are bad, but more so that I have changed—so, truce?"

He held out a palm.

She could see the sincerity written on his face and Hermione, ever so chivalrous, decided it couldn't hurt to give him a chance, even if it was well within her right to refuse it.

She reached out and shook his hand. "Truce."

* * *

"YOU DID WHAT?!" Ron bellowed, hot on her tail as they hurried toward the Great Hall. Harry flanked her on the other side, equally as furious.

"Why would Malfoy of all people, propose something like that?" Harry voiced needlessly. "It doesn't make any sense!"

"Year's barely begun and the bloody git's already up to something," Ron muttered, face dark. "No good ever comes out of interacting with a Malfoy."

She spun on her heels. "Look, this is between me and Malfoy, not Ron and Malfoy, and not Harry and Malfoy! In case it has escaped your notice, he's Head Boy—"

"He's what?!" Ron screeched.

Hermione was this close to hexing him. She shook her head. "Main point—we're going to have to work together anyway! Let's not make this harder than it is."

Ron grasped his head with his hands in disbelief. "He's Head Boy?!"

Hermione ignored him and turned to Harry instead. He was a dark shade of red. Apparently, he hadn't known either.

"Honestly!" she retorted, and stomped away toward the Great Hall, leaving them to stew in their self-righteous indignation.


End file.
